


Joker's Hand

by Yusuke (foxjar)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masochism, Masturbation, Mind Control, Post-Canon, Sadism, Self-cest, Sexual Content, Sharing a Body, Spanking, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-13 17:03:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17491844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxjar/pseuds/Yusuke
Summary: After accepting Yaldabaoth's offer, it is Joker who returns in Akira's body.Joker's favorite thing to do, as it turns out, is tormenting his other self.





	Joker's Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [live_with_love](https://archiveofourown.org/users/live_with_love/gifts).



> This story is based post-canon, where the characters are eighteen or older.

When the first bite of curry touches Akira’s tongue, he can almost taste it. He imagines it to be sweet, but spicy, like he remembers; warm and filling, the way Sojiro always made it.

It has been a year since he accepted Yaldabaoth’s deal. It was the compromise he decided on at the time, rather than fight a god, but he did not think of the consequences.

He did not think Joker would be given full reign of his body. Akira was able to return to the world he knew, but not in the way he imagined. It is Joker who controls his body now: his voice, his limbs, and even his sense of taste and touch.

Joker decided to keep living with Sojiro after making the deal, so that he could finish high school while continuing his work as a Phantom Thief. The heart of Tokyo is an excellent place to sleuth out everyone who might need a change of heart, after all; with the bustling population, there are thousands of rumors abound to feed Joker’s obsession.

Joker’s other obsession is tormenting Akira himself, and if he could, he would shiver at the thought.

Akira watches as Sojiro turns down the volume on the television. It is much easier now to take note of the little things in life that he might not have noticed before.

“You’ve been acting strange lately,” Sojiro says, his back to them, as if he cannot quite face whoever it is behind him. A wave of affection passes through Akira at how his foster father, of sorts, is able to realize something is off; that the man sitting in the cafe is not the criminal turned vigilante he came to love.

“Just tired from exams,” Joker says, more of a half-truth than a direct lie. “Nothing to worry about.”

Sojiro looks at him, his eyes thinning with suspicion, but he says nothing further. Just the fact that he is remaining defiant to Joker’s presence here is comforting.

But Joker can hear these thoughts as if they are his own, and despite the ramifications Akira will face later, he does not regret them. He welcomes Joker’s next attempt to break him.

 _Such smart words for such a pretty mouth,_ Joker thinks. _I wonder how I’ll use you today?_

Akira is not left in suspense long as Joker excuses himself from the meal — he is exhausted from school, after all — and heads up to his room. He lies in bed for a while, staring up at the ceiling as he waits for the bell to chime, signalling Sojiro’s exit from the diner.

It is nothing more than a play of power to remind Akira that he is alone and defenseless.

When Joker closes his eyes, it is like a brief loss of consciousness before Akira wakes up in the Velvet Room. The air hits him, though, no matter how ephemeral this place might be, and he gasps for breath. He is clothed in his usual shabby inmate attire: black and white stripes, with his wrists shackled together, as if there is anywhere he could even try to escape to in here.

Joker sits in the chair Igor — or the fake one, at any rate — always used, except now, it is right in front of Akira’s cell. He is wearing his black trench coat, with those red gloves and eerie mask; the same costume Akira himself once donned as a Phantom Thief. One leg is crossed over the other as Joker bends forward, peering at his captive.

“You’ve been very bad,” he says, licking his lips. “What do you suppose I should do about that?”

 _Nothing,_ Akira thinks. _Nothing at all._

He refuses to follow along with Joker’s absurd demands because it is Akira’s life — his body — that is being paraded around out there. Having everything stolen from him in an instant is not something he can ever be convinced of as being righteous or well-deserved. And yet, it is by Joker’s consent that Akira is able to come here to the Velvet Room; to breathe, to feel the cool iron of the cell bars in his hands.

When Joker opens the cell door with a flick of his wrist, Akira staggers back against the wall. This is a first, as Joker was always content to torment him while he was caged up in his cell.

“Come here,” Joker croons, beckoning him with his finger.

Akira walks toward him, wanting to feel those gloves wrapped around his throat, or pulling at his hair. It has been so long since Joker brought them here to the Velvet Room, and Akira wants to feel the bite of pain that reminds him he is still alive. He wants to feel his anger reignited; that spur of defiance.

Joker grabs him by the wrist as he lumbers toward him — the touch sending a jolt through him — and pulls him into his lap. Akira stares with as much anger as he can muster, his eyes thinned and lips pressed together, but Joker just looks at him as he rubs his back, his hand creeping up the back of his shirt to touch his skin. He trembles at the sensation, and when he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine it is a loving caress rather than one intended to torment him.

“You like that?” Joker asks, smiling as he uses both hands to run up Akira’s back. He cannot remember the last time anyone touched him in such an intimate manner, and he does not want him to stop now.

Which is, of course, exactly what Joker decides to do as he shoves Akira off of his lap. Despite the velvet padding the floor, Akira’s knees still ache when they hit the ground, but it is a pleasant feeling as another shock courses through him. It is something, at least, after these long weeks of feeling nothing.

Joker kneels beside him, a hand pressing into his back that Akira finds soothing, but misleading. If he knows his other self at all, after this long year trapped with him, he is sure that next will come the hair pulling. He can almost feel the pain as he imagines it, the way Joker always does it through the bars of his cell.

There is no pain, and instead, Joker is running his gloved hand down his back to the waistband of his pants. Akira’s pants and underwear are pulled back, pooling at his knees before he has time to think, the cool air a shock against his skin. Even more of a surprise is when Joker smacks his thighs lightly, but enough for Akira to snap his hips forward at the touch.

After a moment, Joker hits him again, but it is on his ass now, and much harder. The sudden sting makes him gasp into the carpet, its fibers muffling the sound. Joker spanking him is the most intense feeling he has felt in a long time, and he cannot help but pivot his hips backward.

 _More,_ he thinks, grateful that, here in the Velvet Room, his and Joker’s thoughts are not aligned the way they are out in the real world. After Joker took over his body, it was like their consciousness cracked down the middle. This is the one place they are separate in thought and body, and yet whole, as they are each other’s sole companion.

After each smack, Akira’s skin burns more. Joker even pauses every so often, interrupting the rhythm he builds up just to tease him. He has to wonder what the purpose of this supposed “punishment” is, as he is enjoying it far more than Joker must have planned.

The sounds of his gasps, as well as the slapping of Joker’s hand against is ass, fill the room. Nothing else seems to exist now; only Joker’s hand, the sting, and the way his cock hardens after each smack. He would feel mortified about his erection if it were not the first one he has experienced in a year. Joker masturbates on occasion — out there in the real world — with Akira’s body, but since he cannot feel anything, it feels like watching porn at an uncomfortable angle.

Joker’s whole existence seems to be to tease him, and Akira supposes that having to deal with him was a fair deal to protect the world; to protect his friends. Even if the body takeover had not been in the verbal agreement — and despite the pain Joker puts him through — he cannot regret his decision now.

Especially not when Joker is smoothing his hand over his ass, squeezing him with such gentleness, as if he had not been spanking him moments prior.

 _Maybe it’s over,_ Akira thinks, almost disappointed. _Maybe he's tired._

But then Joker is pressing a finger into him, slick and cold. He curls his finger downward, adamant on finding that spot inside that will make Akira see stars. The sensation is too much: the pleasant sting from the spanking, the fullness inside, and the way Joker is pressing the tip of his finger against his prostate. He lifts his head from the floor, gasping for air, and he can almost feel Joker’s eyes on him.

“You’re doing well,” Joker says, his first words after what feels like hours. “You may touch yourself, if you wish.”

Without even being able to see beneath him, Joker knows Akira is hard. Maybe it was inevitable that his captor found out, with the way his body is fighting against moving back into his touch, regardless of the pain.

He follows the thinly veiled order, using one hand to hold himself up while wrapping the other around his cock. It is so warm and slick with pre-come, like he remembers from before Joker took his body. His hand squeezes the tip, and he presses his lips together to try to silence his voice. The last thing Joker deserves is the satisfaction of hearing his moans.

Joker’s finger is moving inside him so quickly now, hitting that spot inside him. With each movement, Akira feels closer and closer, but not enough for him to finish.

He thinks of Joker’s face; of what expression he might have right now. A smirk comes to mind — mirrored from his own, and yet so much more sultry than he could ever muster. Akira comes, thinking of the way Joker smiles, just for him. He lets out a loud, choked moan as he releases onto the floor.

After Joker takes his finger out of his ass, Akira’s knees give in and he falls to the floor. He cannot explain or rationalize what just happened, and a part of him does not want to. It can be their little secret.

Joker pulls his head into his lap, his hand running through the sweaty hair stuck to his forehead. He has never been this kind, nor this affectionate, and Akira is not sure how to refuse such attention. He despises Joker — loathes him, even — but he is the only one he has. And besides that, he is some part of his heart that was able to escape and form its own identity. Hating Joker still feels like hating himself, and maybe it always will, no matter what he does to him.

“Why do you think I do this?” Joker asks, his voice soft now. Akira can almost hear an admission of affection in his words, but Joker’s loneliness rings through, at least; as clear as the hands running through his hair.

“What do you think I’d do without you?” Joker continues. “Who do you think I’d be?”

Akira is not sure whether the question is genuine or rhetorical, but he thinks he knows the answer.

_Nothing. Joker wouldn’t even exist if it weren’t for me, would he?_

When Joker pulls him up for a kiss, his mask is gone. It feels much more like he is kissing himself this way, without that mask to remind him of how different they are.

“Did you like it?” Joker asks when Akira pulls away.

“I...yes,” he answers honestly, his skin flushing at the thought.

“Let me make you feel.” Joker cups his face, forcing his eyes back to him.

“Then why did you keep me away from here for so long?” Frustration creeps into his voice; if Joker wants to be amicable with him, he has been doing it in all the wrong ways. By keeping him from the Velvet Room, he has been depriving him of all physical sensation.

“To make it more intense. Was it too much for you?” Akira does not have to nod for his other self to understand. “I’m sorry.”

_I never thought I’d hear anything like that from him._

“Same place tomorrow night?” Joker phrases it as a question, as if giving Akira any semblance of a choice, but before he can answer, they are back in the bedroom at Leblanc.

_Goodnight, Akira._

_Goodnight, Joker._


End file.
